Her eyes teared up. “Papa, I thought I was going to lose you yesterday. Thank goodness you had the digitalis with you.”
“Forgive me, my darling. I’m a crusty old man today.” He hugged her.
She clung to him for a moment, before pushing back and dabbing under her eyes.
“You missed a spot.” With a gentle finger, Andre brushed away the moisture and kissed her cheek. “I never want to make you cry. Truth is, I don’t think I could eat a bite,” he confessed, pressing a hand against his stomach.
“I know. My stomach’s queasy, too.” She patted her still-flat stomach. “But with the baby….”
His granddaughter, or so Delia believed. Yesterday, she told him she intended to name the baby Andrea.
He forced a smile. “I don’t have that excuse.” A knot the size of a wagon wheel lodged in his stomach. He gestured toward the table. “You must eat, too. You need to keep up your strength.” He allowed her to guide him to his chair.
“I had porridge.”
Andre grunted and sat. He disliked porridge, as well Delia knew.
“Darcy and Gideon Walker dropped by on their way home.” She busied herself pouring him a glass of water. “They brought a few baskets of huckleberries left over from the Harvest Festival. Perfect to sweeten your porridge.”
“I hope they’ll be safe.” He frowned. “It’s no secret Darcy has wealth, for all that the Walkers live rather simply in that fairy-tale cottage of theirs. She wears elegant clothing and beautiful jewelry.”
“Gideon thinks they’ll be fine. After all, the posse traveled down that road yesterday. They would have taken care of any trouble if any was to be had.”
Tilda Mournier entered carrying a tureen. The middle-aged housekeeper was a fine-looking woman whose Negro and Indian blood showed in her bronzed skin and high cheekbones.
Andre had known her since they both were small children. Before the war, she and her parents were his father’s slaves, and Tilda tended to mother him—at least until Delia came into his life and took over the bossy role. Far too often the two women ganged up on him. Most of the time he didn’t mind, knowing their fussing came from love.
Today, though, he hoped Tilda wouldn’t speak about what happened yesterday. He’d already discussed the robbery and its ramifications far too much.
Tilda’s husband Rufus followed her. The tall, dark-skinned butler held a laden tray. Behind them came their daughter Milliana with a coffee pot, bringing the bitter scent of the brew into the room. Their other daughter remained in the kitchen, working as cook’s assistant. Both young women looked just like their mother.
Instead of their usual smiles, all three had solemn expressions, which didn’t change when they greeted him.
He supposed everyone else in town looked the same and would continue their somberness until the robbers were caught and the posse safely returned.
Most of his servants had worked for him a long time. He’d hired them in New Orleans and they’d traveled to New York, where they remained taking care of his home during his brief trip back to the South and the move with Delia to Montana. Once this house was finished, he’d sold the one in New York and brought out everyone who still wanted to work for him.
Milliana poured coffee into Andre’s cup and then lifted the creamer from Rufus’s tray to place beside the coffee cup.
Delia offered the porridge tureen, and Andre helped himself. Then she placed the brown sugar bowl and the one with huckleberries next to the small pitcher of cream and gave him an eat-every-bite look.
Taking his time, he stirred cream into his coffee and sipped. Slowly, he prepared his porridge, adding the berries and brown sugar.
Delia’s gimlet-eyed look made Andre cut short his dawdling and bite the bullet, or the spoon in his case. He poured in cream and ate. The porridge, smothered with brown sugar, huckleberries, and cream, wasn’t too bad. To please his daughter, Andre finished the whole bowl.
Usually, they didn’t linger over breakfast. In addition to managing her household and mothering Micah, Delia performed her duties as a minister’s wife, while Andre meddled with his plans for bettering Sweetwater Springs. He had ideas for improvements that would benefit the town as well as future generations.
Today, though, by unspoken agreement, they lingered, taking comfort from each other’s presence. Sometimes, they engaged in desultory conversation and at other times sat in silence.
A slam of the front door and the galumphing of shoes heralded his grandson.
The two exchanged puzzled glances.
Delia’s brow wrinkled. “I hope nothing’s wrong.” She rose.
Andre’s stomach clenched.
“Maman? Grand-père?” Micah called.
“In here,” Delia raised her voice to be heard.
A quick glance assured Andre the boy was fine.
“What are you doing home, young man?” Delia asked with unusual sternness. “You’re supposed to be in school. Does Mrs. Gordon know you’re here?”
“Yes, ma’am. I asked her if during lunch recess I could go to the train station to see if there was mail. She said if there was, I could take the letter home and come right back.”
At least the boy’s appearance hadn’t heralded bad news about the robbers and the posse. “Why did you want to do that now instead of after school?” Andre asked, curious.
Micah scrunched his shoulders. “I heard the train whistle, and I just had a feeling, that’s all.”
“A feeling….” Andre drew out the word. “Well, I’ve had a feeling a time or two, so I understand.”
Delia moved closer and touched Micah’s face. “Did you eat first?”
“No, Maman.”
“Then sit for a few minutes. Cook can rustle up a sandwich for you to eat on your walk back to school. Unless you want porridge again.”
“A sandwich.” Micah drew a letter from the pocket inside his jacket. “Here, Grand-père, a letter from New York. Your friend Marty’s granddaughter.” He handed the envelope to Andre before moving to his seat.
“Are you my secretary to know all my correspondents?” Andre demanded in a mock stern tone.
Micah tipped his head. “What’s a secretary?”
“Someone who helps organize a man’s business affairs.”
“Or a woman’s business affairs,” Delia added with a pointed glance at him.
Andre nodded his agreement. “Several women own businesses in town, and others run farms or even ranches. I don’t know of any secretaries in Sweetwater Springs, though they are common in New York.”
Micah puffed up his chest. “Since I’m the one to take the mail to the train station and bring back the mail, and I know what your friends’ handwriting looks like, then yes. I’m your secretary.”
Andre choked out a laugh. “I suppose you’ll soon be asking for an increase in wages.”
Delia shook her head. “Papa, don’t encourage him,” she chided with a smile.
“Well,” Micah demanded. “I’m right about the letter, aren’t I?”
Andre glanced at the address. Not from Rose. Disappointment stabbed. Maybe Cora is responding for both of them. His hopes rose. “Yes, this is from Cora Collier.” He held the envelope a moment without opening it. He didn’t need more bad news. A refusal from Rose to come to Sweetwater Springs would deeply hurt. Using his knife as a letter opener, he took out the single piece of paper and began to read.
Dear Mr. Bellaire,
What a savior you are! Your letter to Aunt Rose appeared at just the right time, for I’d decided to leave New York for new adventures—nursing that is, not matrimony. Aunt Rose wasn’t so enthusiastic about moving West, but I persuaded her to accept your invitation. We are in the midst of a flurry of shopping and packing and plan to arrive in Sweetwater Springs on October 1st.
I look forward to seeing you again and meeting your new family. Aunt Rose insists on living in lodgings. Somehow, we’ll have to persuade her to live in your house, which I think will be far more c
omfortable!
I won’t impose on your hospitality for long. I will seek employment. Perhaps, you can keep your eyes out for someone in need of nursing. I believe your town will soon have a new librarian, although my aunt has not committed to that endeavor, or at least not that she’ll admit to me. But she will. And she’s certainly bringing along enough of Grandpapa’s books to give your library a good start. So I’m confident you can persuade her to take the job.
Hopefully, with both of us employed, we will soon arrange to move into a home of our own.
Sincerely,
Cora Collier
When he finished, Andre kept staring blankly at the paper. Just reading Cora’s breezy letter made his spirits lift. Rose is coming here!
At the same time, his stomach clenched, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake. He’d broken her heart—both their hearts, really, and although time brought distance and healing, he wasn’t sure what seeing her on a daily basis would do to either of them.
“Papa, don’t keep us in suspense.”
He lifted his head, glanced at his daughter and saw her anxious expression.
“Good news?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Very.” He took a deep breath. “Both the Misses Collier—Rose and Cora—have accepted my invitation to stay with us and will arrive on the first.”
“That’s just six days!” Delia’s eyes sparkled. “Rose Collier, ay.” She gave him a knowing smile. “You and your secrets. I don’t suppose you could have forewarned me?” She turned to Micah, who watched their exchange with curious eyes. “Off to the kitchen, tell Cook to make you a sandwich, and hurry back to school.”
“Yes, Maman.” He flung a grin at Andre and hurried from the room.”
“Goodness, there’s so much to do before your ladies arrive.” She bustled over and dropped a kiss on Andre’s forehead. “I’m going to call you the puppet-master of Sweetwater Springs.”
Delighted with the idea, he chuckled, and then remembered the robbery and Deputy Rodda’s death. “Some things are beyond my powers.”
“I know.” She patted his hand.
“Nothing can take my mind off my concern for our posse.”
“Still, a distraction will be good for you. For all of us.”
He imagined seeing Rose again and lightness lifted some of his heavy spirits.
CHAPTER FIVE
The lightness was short-lived. After breakfast, Andre stood at the side of his four-poster bed, looking at the variety of night attire he’d spread out over the cover, a heavy feeling of guilt sobering him. Gazing out the window, he tried to think of anything else that could make Horace Hatter more comfortable as he convalesced from the assault during the bank robbery.
A knock on the door made him half turn. “Come in.”
Delia entered, looking pretty and fresh in an ocher-and-cream striped dress he’d ordered last month from Constance Taylor, the new dressmaker in town, and amber beads around her neck and in her ears. She carried a big basket in both hands, which she thumped on an empty spot on the bed.
Today he couldn’t even allow himself to feel his usual pleasure in her appearance, but he made an effort. “You look beautiful, my dear.”
Her hand fluttered to her stomach. “I’m lucky. No morning sickness today, although I probably won’t wear this dress again. The waist is already snug, and Dr. Cameron forbade me to wear a tight corset.”
“I’ll order you some more tea gowns,” he said, trying to act normal.
“I have enough clothing, Papa.”
He resolved to do so anyway. Miss Taylor can use the business.
Delia moved closer to Andre’s side. “What are you doing closed away in here?”
“Good timing, actually. You’re just the person I wanted to talk to. I need your permission.”
She glanced at the bed, and her brow creased. “What are you doing?”
“When you mentioned taking a basket to the Hatters’, I started thinking about what I can contribute. Since Horace will be recuperating for a week or two, would you mind if I made him a present of the dressing gown and slippers you gave me for Christmas? You know what a creature of habit I am. I’ve barely worn the slippers because my old ones are still comfortable.”
“And you already have another dressing gown. Not to mention that shabby old thing you resort to at times when you want an evening cigar. Behind my back, I might add. I hate the idea of you smoking.” She affectionately leaned against him. “I think giving Horace the robe and slippers is a wonderful idea. I don’t mind a bit, although, as usual—” she swept an arm toward the bed “—I see you have more than a robe and slippers in mind.”
“I wish I could give the man money, but I doubt he’d accept such a gift, because he’ll see any funds from me as charity.”
“I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Livingston will pay Mr. Hatter’s salary during the time he’s recovering.”
“Ah. Well done of Caleb. One never knows with that man.” Andre hadn’t entirely forgiven the banker for turning them out of his house when he’d discovered Delia’s illegitimacy and Negro heritage.
“Maggie is good for him. Caleb is a different man because of her and the baby. I’m glad they’re getting married.” She reached to smooth a hand over the cotton case of a plump, down pillow. “I see you’ve appropriated one of the guestroom pillowcases.”
“Wouldn’t do to give Horace one with our initials embroidered on the cover.” He pointed to the rest of the items. “I have more nightshirts, caps, and stockings than I’ll ever wear. So one of each. I thought a soft blanket….” He tapped the cover of a book set next to the pillow. “And, of course, Marcus Aurelius to keep him company—that is, when his eyes recover from the concussion and he’s allowed to read.”
“Your old friend.” She leaned against his arm again. “How do you know Mr. Hatter doesn’t have Meditations already?”
“Because I’ve lent him a copy in the past. You know I keep an extra on hand for that very reason. This one’s a gift, though.”
She glanced up with a smile. “No, I didn’t know that. But having extras on hand is so like you.”
“Why do you think I’ve wanted a library in town?”
“So you can hoard your favorite volumes and not be forced through courtesy to lend them out,” she teased.
Their banter eased his heavy spirits a bit.
Delia’s eyebrows pulled together. “I’m ashamed to say that I’m barely acquainted with the Hatters. Besides a few words before or after church when they’ve come through the greeting line, I haven’t spoken to them. I don’t even know Mrs. Hatter’s given name. What kind of minister’s wife does that make me?” She placed a hand on her belly.
This wasn’t the first time Delia expressed doubts about fulfilling her duties. Andre tapped the crinkle on her forehead. “The best kind. One who’s concerned about her parishioners.”
For the thousandth time, Andre cursed his former mistress Isadora for keeping Delia a secret from him and raising her to believe she was little more than a beautiful commodity to be sold as a wife or a mistress to the highest bidder. Luckily Joshua was patient and supportive and adoring with his wife. Andre couldn’t ask for a better husband for his beloved daughter.
He reached for her hand and squeezed. “You can’t expect to know everyone well yet. Building those acquaintances will take time. Besides, what matters isn’t the past but what you’re doing now.”
“Are you tired of reminding me?”
“Never, my darling girl. I have many years of not dispensing fatherly advice to make up for.” He released Delia’s hand to give her a quick sideways hug around her shoulders. “Mrs. Hatter seems the retiring sort. Not one to put herself forward. They’ll take longer to become acquainted with. I haven’t spoken to Mrs. Hatter at all, although I’ve chatted with Horace when I’ve done business at the bank, especially that stretch of time when Caleb and I mutually avoided each other.”
“Perhaps others are having simila
r recriminations. Joshua would say this kind of change is one of the good things that will come from this tragedy—the community will become better acquainted with one of our more reserved families.”
He fell silent, thinking about Rose and Cora’s arrival in a few days in the midst of the danger and turmoil of the town.
She frowned up at him. “What else is on your mind, Papa?”
He raised his eyebrows. “How do you know something’s on my mind?”
Reaching up with one finger, she rubbed the middle of his forehead, almost the same gesture he’d just done with her. “You get a crease right here when you’re gnawing on a worry like a dog with a bone.”
“Comparing me to a hound, are you?” he said lightly, turning the conversation away from his fears.
“Papa….” Delia warned.
Letting out a sigh, Andre reached to straighten one of the slippers, aligning the heel with the other before capitulating. “When I invited Rose and Cora, I never thought for an instant I’d be putting them in harm’s way.” He resisted rubbing his chest over the quick thump of his heart.
“Are you envisioning the outlaws holding up the train?”
“Oh, Lordy, daughter—” he leaned a hand against the bedpost “—don’t put that idea in my head! What if something were to happen to them?”
Delia frowned. “Death is something none of us have power over. That’s in God’s hands, and you’d best stop blaming yourself for that robbery. The man who shot Deputy Rodda is to blame, not you.”
He growled. Logically knowing she was right didn’t make him feel better.
She patted his arm. “We have to trust Sheriff Granger and the posse will take care of that gang. Those outlaws would be foolish to return here. Since the robbery, everyone is vigilant, locking their doors and eyeing strangers. Men are going about wearing pistols or carrying rifles. Some of the ladies, too. Rose and Cora will be perfectly safe with us.”
“Last night, I made sure Sam and Rufus are armed.” He tilted his head toward the bed. “My Colt is under the pillow. We’re keeping the doors and windows locked. Rufus knows to look through the window before answering the front door. But I’d feel better if you and Joshua carried weapons. Joshua could take one of mine. Then there’s that lady’s derringer I bought you before we left New Orleans.”
A Late-Blooming Rose: A Montana Sky Series Novel Page 5